


paint me in trust

by timelxdy



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/F, First Time, Plot What Plot, thasmin, wlw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-11-01 20:26:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17874290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timelxdy/pseuds/timelxdy
Summary: Like a moth to a flame, Yaz is caught, fluttering and hovering so, so close to the source until it burns so intensely, she has to take a step back.





	1. Chapter 1

“Oprah loved it here last time we visited. I ought to take her back some time.” The scuff and creak of old, weathered wooden doors echo around the console room when the Doctor leads the way inside, arms laden with enough takeaway food and snacks to feed a dozen starved university students for a week. Their trip had worked up quite an appetite in the two women, evidenced by the soft grumble of stomachs upon entrance to the ship.    

“Oprah. Wait. Hang on. Do you mean ‘ _Oprah’_ Oprah?  _Has own chat show_  Oprah?  _Very famous and iconic_ Oprah?” Yaz stutters from where she’s paused, lips parted in flustered surprise. She, too, is carrying containers of various snacks and dishes, plus two, very green, very luminous and very pungent bottles of liquid – apparently, it’s drinkable, but she’ll still require some persuasion before she risks her taste buds.   

“All of the above, yes.”   

“Holy  _crap.”_    

The centre column of TARDIS thrums indignantly at the language, to which Yaz gives a sheepish glance.    

“Big fan, huh? She’s really, very down to earth, I promise you. A right laugh, she is. Those are her favourite. Aluma juice, with extra bubbles.” The blonde nods to the glowing liquid which sloshes when Yaz settles at the steps, slumping against the engineered metal with a relieved sigh. That's all the persuasion the dark-haired woman needs.    

Her revised navigation and fast reactions had brought them to Aluma, the ‘planet of food markets’ earlier in the day, where they’d explored in pure fascination and desperate hunger at all the varying foods and delicacies. It’s fair to say they’d returned with more than enough samples.   
   
The Doctor comes to settle at her side once the doors are locked and the ship has set course to drift aimlessly from star to star.    

“What do you think?” The blonde adds when her counterpart takes her first, tentative sip of the fizzy liquid, features transitioning rapidly from mild worry to shocked delight.   
      
“It’s delicious. What’s in it, exactly?” Yaz swills the luminescent substance in its branded bottle, eyeing the movements it makes. It's gloopy, almost, as thick as a milkshake but as fizzy as a bottle of wine.    

“Oh, now  _that_ is a secret, Yasmin Khan - else those advertising contracts will go bust.” The Doctor murmurs mischievously, tapping the tip of her nose in a conspiring nature.    

The dark-haired woman takes the last comment on the chin – it would not be surprising to her to find adverts featuring her best friend ranting and raving on the product, considering how much she’d jumped and squealed in joy at the initial sight of it. In hindsight, the performance was endearing, but Yaz is too hungry to fluster the other woman by revealing that right now. Instead, she lets her childishly rip the packaging around each piece of food in order to display their little scavenge in front of them.    

“Bon appétit, Yaz.”   

The accentuated phrase earns the blonde a soft flush from the woman sitting snug at her side. She's been doing a lot of that recently, the Doctor ponders, taking a bite into what looks like a strawberry, albeit in a frankly blinding shade of yellow.    

“What’s that called?” Yaz questions, tilting her head and consequently letting dark tresses fall to rest against the Doctor’s shoulder. The sweet taste of fruit blends perfectly with the honey scent which lingers on her skin, in her hair, _on_ _her lips._ The Doctor curses her sensitive nose sometimes, urging her to shuffle a tentative touch closer so she can ever-so-subtly breathe in her scent. It’s a move she regrets immediately. It makes her want nothing more than to immerse herself in Yaz’s sweet aroma, and she has to quell her thoughts when they enter a whole new realm she’d rather not admit to – especially not while Yaz is looking at her as though she holds all the answers to all the questions in the universe.    

“It’s a Saphberry.”   

“A Saphberry. Huh.” Yaz tests the word on her tongue, eyeing the Time Lord while she helps herself to her own piece. It's sweet, with a hint of what tastes like cinnamon. It reminds her of cakes her mum used to make with her.    

There's something alluring and mesmerising about watching the woman who’d captured her interest, her imagination, and, slowly but surely, her heart – the same woman who has lived for thousands of years and fought thousands of battles for good – while she enjoys a moment of indulgence. Like a moth to a flame, Yaz is caught, fluttering and hovering so, so close to the source until it burns so intensely, she has to take a step back.   

 _This time, though, the flame is a little gentler, a little more welcoming, and Yaz is quite happy to weave between burning wisps and straight for the gold in the middle._    

 _“_ - and she had no idea the queen of Aluma was actually her auntie the whole time, so she inherited the throne straight after her abdication. Pretty cool, huh?” The Doctor rambles, turning to the woman now snug at her side with an expectant look. She seems as though she’s in her own little universe, lost in the thoughts swirling in her human brain. “Yaz?”   

“Huh?”   

“Everything okay? You seem a bit spaced out. Is it the food? Did something not react well? I should’ve checked they were alright for human consumption -- I always seem to forget that part.”   

The assault of questions has Yaz blinking back into the present, a small lump forming in her throat when the Doctor reaches up to cup her forehead, checking her temperature. The gesture sends her cheeks on fire and warmth flooding to the pit of her stomach. “Doctor, I’m fine. The food is delicious.”   

“Are you sure? It feels like you’re burning up.”   

 _That’s not because of the food,_ Yaz quips in the haziness of her mind, catching the Doctor’s eyes when something heated crosses her features. It's as though she’s heard her thoughts - a slim, arched brow raising in question, head tilting a touch. She thinks she sees her swallow thickly.    

“Then what’s got you all warm and panicky?” The blonde all but whispers, toeing the line between innocence and intense curiosity. There’s a drop of what looks like chocolate sauce still clinging to the corner of her lips, from the remnants of a pancake left at the Time Lord’s side.    

 _Perhaps it’s your proximity._ Yaz murmurs once more, far into the depths of her subconscious.    

 _That_ has the Doctor’s steely façade falling to pieces and leaves her cursing her sensitive hearing and insight. She wishes she couldn’t hear the way Yaz’s heartbeat picks up when she meets her gaze again, her expression conveying more than words, more than feelings; something deeper and more yearning, just waiting to break through.    

Yaz reaches up, in an act of boldness – although it’s  _Yaz,_ so she’s always brilliantly unpredictable – and swipes her thumb just under the crease between her lips, where soft pink meets smooth cream. She gathers the sweet substance on her digit before drawing her hand back, only to raise it to her own lips. To her surprise, it tastes just like the chocolate on earth, but there’s a tangy hint to it which must just be the Doctor. She slips her thumb past plush lips to test how long the blonde is confident enough to retain eye contact, and she’s all-too-pleased to see the effect it has.    

Cream-coloured cheeks regenerate into a lovely, flushed pink and the Doctor can’t find it in herself to look away, unblinking and teetering on the verge of simply acting upon her urges.   

The lights in the console room dim and a heated quiet speaks volumes between them.    

Once she’s sufficiently satisfied with the sweet sampling, Yaz lifts her hand once more, this time tracing the slow curve of her bottom lip to get a sense of how it would feel delicately brushed by her tongue or, perhaps, confidently snagged between her teeth.    

The anticipation burns at the centre of both of the Doctor’s hearts and twitches at the tips of her fingers, which itch to brush and graze against Yaz’s features. Her movements are so slow and teasing they have the Time Lord fidgeting enough to garner the other woman’s attention.    

“Keep still.” Yaz croons, leaning in so close the Doctor loses all sense of anything beyond coconut shampoo and commanding words. She halts her fidgeting, however, frankly embarrassed by how much of an effect two words can have on the heat between her legs.    

“Better.” Comes the last comment before finally,  _finally,_ lips meet skin. Yaz starts at the crease between her lips, tasting what’s left of the chocolate residue before she curls a strong hand loosely around her neck. She draws her closer, and when lips meet lips in a rush of longing passion, the Doctor sees constellations birth and burn behind her eyes.    

The blonde is a little clumsier in her actions, instinct begging her to settle her hands on her hips, only after aiming for her shoulders. She gets there in the end, though, youthful palms settling against the material of Yaz’s jumper. It’s the Doctor’s favourite – in a dark blue hue and littered with stars. She doesn’t dwell on this for long, though, distracted by the way Yaz’s tongue pries at her lips until it’s given permission to explore further.    

 _Should’ve picked a better place to sit,_ Yaz thinks in hindsight, as metal steps prod uncomfortably at her back. She goes to pause their kiss when the Doctor does something with her tongue which has her sighing breathlessly into her mouth. There's no way on Aluma she’s letting her get the upper hand, so she nudges the Time Lord’s knees apart enough to press her thigh between them, applying more pressure with every second.   

The Doctor’s gasped moan echoes and bounces against the curved crystals and depths of the console’s core, the sound sweet music to Yaz’s ears. The blonde breaks the kiss in her surprised state, features flushed and lips bee-stung. She looks absolutely breathtaking like this, heat flooding to the pit of Yaz’s stomach at the sight. She can’t believe quick she can reduce her to breathy whimpers, offering up a touch more pressure when she leans closer, nipping at the smooth flesh just below her ear.    

“You know, you still haven’t given me a proper tour, Doctor. Perhaps we could start with your bedroom?” Yaz divulges, a confident little curl of her lips lingering on her features when the Time Lord’s breathing quickens.      
    
“Yes - yes, I – mm, perhaps.” The Doctor stutters, hips twitching against her counterpart’s thigh until she earns a stern look from dark brown eyes.    

“Take your time, Doc.”   

The blonde almost tumbles in her haste to stand, reaching out a hand to help her companion up. Stepping over takeaway boxes, she leads the way along winding corridors in the direction of her room.    

Nerves bubble to life in Yaz’s stomach, her confident, bold façade slipping away with each step she takes towards the Doctor’s usually private abode. Maybe she’d pushed too far? Has she overstepped the mark?   

Halfway along the sixth corridor in, she reaches out for the Doctor’s arm, grasping the material of her coat in a hold firm enough to make her stop in her tracks. She spins around on one heel, meeting her gaze in question. She spots the caught-in-headlights look on her face from a mile off. “What’s wrong?”   

“I’m not… being too much, right? Because I’m actually kind of terrified. Are you okay with this? We haven’t really talked about it and –“ Yaz starts to ramble much alike the woman in front of her, who laughs gently.    

“Yaz, this is completely fine. You’re brilliant. I want this. You do too, right?”    

“Yes! Yes – I mean, sure, yeah. I want this. I want you.” Yaz hums, hooking the Doctor in by the yellow suspenders fitted snugly against her frame. She hovers inches from her lips for a few torturous moments before surging forward, mouths meeting in a flurry of renewed vigor.    

She doesn’t remember opening the door and stumbling inside the Doctor’s room, but suddenly the Time Lord is writhing beneath her, squirming and needy and so, so beautiful.   

“Please.”    
    
“Please  _what,_ honey?”    

“Please,  _touch me.”_ The Doctor whimpers, hips twitching from where they’re pinned beneath Yaz’s. Her coat and t-shirt have been discarded somewhere between the door and the bed leaving her down to her suspenders and culottes. Yaz cherishes the sight, reaching to grasp her suspender only to let it fling back against the thin material of her deep blue lace bra. She earns a frenzied little whine for her actions, and Yaz is quickly learning that the Doctor’s newest body is extremely sensitive.   

“Yaz... Yaz, Yaz...” The Doctor breathes when Yaz finally peels away her bra, exposing small breasts alongside slight curves. Yaz is in awe, movements stuttering. She's never seen anything so beautiful. It’s only then that she recognises her name on the Doctor’s lips.   

“Shit, sorry. Are you okay? Is something wrong? I can stop, if you like. That’s totally fi-”  

“Shh. It’s okay. I want this. I want  _you._ I’m just – this is a brand-new body. I haven’t really experienced anything in this form yet, so, uh - I hadn’t really planned the next sentence, oops. Brain’s a bit fuzzy. Uh, be gentle, I guess? Not that I think you won’t, of course. I just – uh, hm. I need to stop talking now, so if you could just... help me do that, that would be brillia- oh! Yes. Okay. That’ll do it. Sh- shutting up now.” The Doctor rambles, words pausing only when her counterpart smoothly closes her lips around her left breast, tongue flicking over the hardening bud with gentle pressure.   

The new sensations flood the Doctor’s system and send her nerves into overdrive, tiny sparks of electricity burning a path to the apex of her thighs. She's slowly growing more uncomfortable in her trousers, so she reaches down to undo and shimmy them down creamy thighs.   

“Let me help.” Yaz purrs against her chest, sliding a hand down the smooth slope of her stomach to the waistband to drag the material down and off her toned legs. She's a glorious sight to behold, skin reddened and warm and hearts beating rapidly in her ribcage.   

The dark-haired woman lifts her own jumper above her head and casts it aside when the Doctor grasps at the hem in question, leaving her in figure-hugging dark purple lace.   

“Evens, Yaz.” The Doctor whispers, sitting up briefly to undo the fly of Yaz’s jeans and allow for her to wriggle free from their restriction.   

“May I?” The Time lord motions towards her lace bra, eyes wide and focused until she receives permission. Although, because she’s the Doctor, it’s not surprising in the least when she struggles with the clasp, giving in with a defeated huff and a quiet ‘one day I'll learn’.   

“You know, for someone capable of inventing impossible things from thin air, Doctor, I thought you’d be able to handle a bra quite easily.” Yaz teases, leaning in for a slow kiss while she casts the garment aside.   

She sighs when the Doctor climbs into her lap, their proximity making it intimate and sensual for them both immediately. She can feel the damp heat of the Doctor’s core pressed against her thighs, leaving a hand to stray down her chest to her abdomen and toy at the waistband of her black underwear, dusted with tiny cupcakes. She files the sight away in the ‘top ten most adorable things about the Doctor’, breaking the kiss to offer up a dazed but gentle smile.   

Her consent is what’s most important – she wants to make the Doctor’s first time in this body blissful and unspoiled by her urge to crash and burn together quick and harsh.  

“Are you sure about this, Doctor?”  

The Doctor keens against her, hips canting up, up, and into her touch. She takes a moment to admire her companion’s youthful skin, pupils dilating when she’s level with her eyes once more. “Gods’ above, you’re flawless. Please, Yaz. I’ve never been so sure about anything.”  

That’s all the assurance the other woman needs to dip her hand past the waistband of her underwear and into slick warmth, an echoing moan falling on attentive ears while Yaz gently circles her bundle of nerves.   

The Doctor is vocal in her approval of each movement of her digits while they grow firmer, silencing herself against Yaz’s collarbone when she bites down lightly against the sensitive skin. There’s a desperate look in Yaz’s eyes every time she captures them in her own, so she slides a tentative hand along her thigh to her own underwear to explore curiously. The lucky thing is - she’s a quick learner, so it doesn’t take her long until she’s copying Yaz’s movements and they’re both breathing heavily into each other's mouths and against each other's skin.  “You’re so  _good,_ Doctor.”  

Yaz is extremely pleased to witness the effect her words have on the older woman, earning a whirlwind of ‘thank yous’ and ‘pleases’ while she begins to squirm and grow clumsy. She leans in to press her lips to her chest again, thumb circling firmly at her clit while a single digit slips further, nudging at her entrance but not slipping inside just yet.   

“Can I-? Please? I promise I won’t hurt you. Just tell me if you want me to stop, okay?” She assures her lover, hot breaths falling against her breast and making the Doctor gasp.   

“Yes... yes,  _please,_ Yaz.”  

“Good... good  _girl.”_ The rush of desire to the space between her legs is enough to make her tremble in response to Yaz’s words, the pleasure doubled by the digit now slowly sinking into her core. It's a foreign feeling, but the pressure against her clit is already enough to bring her to the edge, so the sensation only adds fuel to the fire.   

With some manoeuvring, the Doctor has a stream of moans tumbling from Yaz’s lips, using her rolling hips to guide her movements when she slips a finger easily within her. They’re working in tandem now, hips shifting and lips finding everywhere and anywhere to make their mark known or to simply quieten themselves.   

“Yaz... Hh, Yaz. I’m so -”  

“Full sentences, baby.” Yaz chides, though it’s hard to remain in control when the Doctor accompanies the first digit with a second, slowly pumping at her. Yaz turns the tables, repeating her actions on the Doctor so they’re both right on the verge. She presses her thumb firmly against her most sensitive spot, watching her shiver and writhe.   

“Yaz! Bloody hh--... I’m so close.”  

Falling forward against her and gripping onto her shoulder with her free hand, the Doctor desperately holds off the ticking time bomb set to leave her a quivering mess, but she can only hold back for so long.   

“Good girl. Me too, Doctor. Together?”  

“T - together. Mmnyes.” She’s barely clinging on, and Yaz can tell, leaning in to capture a hardened nipple and suck hard. Her pace increases, so she’s fucking the Doctor quick and firm.   

“ _Let go, baby.”_ Yaz finally, breathlessly murmurs, all remains of her composure falling apart when she watches the Doctor fall apart, crying out while she clings at her desperately. Her head falls to Yaz’s shoulder, short nails dragging down her spine until it’s the other woman calling out her name.   

It takes several long, blissful minutes until both women come down from their high, and the Doctor refuses to leave her embrace. She sinks and frames herself against her, leaving Yaz to manoeuvre them both into a more comfortable position laying down atop the twisted sheets. She curls her arms around the blonde, who rests her head against the rise and fall of her chest.   

“Was that okay?” Yaz eventually pipes up when the Doctor begins to come around again. She peppers kisses along her collarbone, lazy and blissed and soft after her first orgasm in her new body.   

“More than okay. That was  _brilliant,_ Yaz. I never knew you were so talented. Thank you for easing me into it.”   

Yaz decides not to mention the clear reaction to praise she has going on, saving it for another time. For now, she’s sated and warm and just wants to let her eyes fall closed, the zesty smell of passion fruit lingering in the air from the warm body beside her. “Thank you for letting me be your first, Doctor.”   

She dances her fingertips over the marks she’d made on her shoulder and collarbone, for once enjoying the way the skin breaks and reddens if only to mark her property – that's a new feeling, too. She has an inkling Yasmin Khan is going to teach her a lot about herself over time, starting now.  

Yaz is half asleep by the time ten minutes rolls around, leaving the Doctor to watch over her curiously on the edge of sleep herself. She matches up each blemish to create new constellations and star signs, showering her with gentle, affectionate kisses when she eventually starts to doze.  

“Will you still be here in the morning?” Yaz murmurs sleepily, face now buried in the Doctor’s ruffled locks.   

“Don’t usually make any promises, but for you, Yaz? I’ll stay here all night.” The Doctor’s features soften, and she curls a touch closer just to breathe her in again.   

“Goodnight, Doctor.”  

“Goodnight, Yasmin Khan. Sweet dreams.”   

As she observes the younger woman giving in to slumber through fatigued vision, the Doctor smiles wistfully. She thought she was done with this kind of affection; these kinds of experiences, this kind of heaviness in her hearts. Turns out, Yasmin Khan is strong and brave and courageous enough to break down her walls like fire burns away at paper - hard to catch at first, then ablaze all at once.   

"Firsts with Yaz? _Amazing."_  


	2. morning brings

Crisp, pale blue sheets cling to entwined figures, bare feet seeking warmth from their counterparts'. The backs of knees and thighs rest against the front of their companions’, leaving Yaz to rouse amidst a mess of blonde hair while she holds another body loosely against her own.   

It takes her a few minutes to adjust to the artificial light streaming in from above, where the projection of starry skies from last night have transitioned to a light blue hue, littered with small, fluffy white clouds, like something one would expect in a children’s animation.   

Every bedroom has such a ceiling, each different in their own unique way. For some unknown reason, the Doctor’s gives her more warmth, more comfort, it works away at each worry and pushes it into the dust and fog at the back of her mind. She's hardly surprised, given that the Doctor likely carries a heck of a lot more baggage than herself. It’s a reassurance, somewhat; she acknowledges it as the ship’s way of providing silent solace to its solitary pilot.   

At least she knows the TARDIS will look after the impulsive Time Lord and keep her safe from herself when Yaz and the team have long gone.   

However, the morning after some of the best sex she’s had in her life  _really_ isn’t the appropriate time to start thinking about such things, especially not when there’s so much bare skin on display just inches from her face.   

She reaches out, tentative and leisurely, to smooth the tips of her fingers down from the Doctor’s shoulder to her hip, then as far as her arm will stretch along her thigh before making the ascent back up. The action repeats itself until a soft snuffling disturbs the quiet. The Doctor nestles into her pillow, lips curling and nose scrunching until a tiny yawn slips past her lips, then, just as gradually as she rouses, she falls back asleep.   

Once she’s fawned over the little performance enough, Yaz leans in, licking her lips before they press, featherlight, against her shoulder blade, breezing over the marks she finds scattered over her perfect skin. When her lips brush along to the junction between her neck and shoulder, the Doctor stirs once more, breathing out a soft sigh. She tilts her head to reveal more skin worth exploring, and Yaz can’t resist obliging.   

Firmer, open-mouthed kisses graze the skin just below her ear – one of the Doctor’s most sensitive spots, she’s found – and rouse the doctor from her slumber. She keens quietly, hips twitching and pressing back against her lover’s while heat floods to her core.   

Yaz twists, letting the Doctor lay back while she shuffles up to her side, hooking a slim leg between the blonde’s so she has something to press and grind against while she follows a path down between her breasts to her hip.   

“Doctor?” Yaz murmurs tenderly, blinking demurely up at her drowsy lover. She seems to think this is some kind of dream, Yaz reckons, breathing hot air over the mark she’d made on her hip bone the night before. “Baby, wake up. I need you.”  

“Mm - hello.” The Time Lord whispers on the edge of sleep, blinking blearily down at her. The sight alone is enough to have her breathless – the dark-haired woman ready and waiting between her legs. Her thighs tremble when her breath ghosts against her inner thigh. “Wait - so last night wasn’t a dream? I thought it was too good to be true. And now you’re - now we’re naked, and – and you’re doing that thing again.”  

“What thing?” Yaz teases, licking her lips as she takes in the view. Her pupils are glossy and dilated, her pulse racing in her neck. It’s somewhat visible, and it makes the Doctor shiver.  

“ _That thing._ That look.” A soft noise of protest sails off her tongue when Yaz ventures closer, dotting a gentle trail of kisses along her thigh.   

“Want me to prove you weren’t dreaming, Doctor?” Yaz queries casually, tongue swirling against flesh just millimetres from where she needs it most.   

“Mm - hhn, yes.” The Doctor purrs, every bit the needy, incomprehensible lover she was last night.   

“Say _please,_ honey.” She returns, giving a warning little nip of teeth against sensitive flesh.   

“ _Gods,_ Yaz.  _Please.”_ The blonde whines, reaching down to curl artist’s fingers into the other woman’s hair, drawing her closer.     
   
“ _Good girl._  Maybe one day I won’t have to remind you of your manners.” Yaz croons in faux-seriousness before delving in between her legs and feasting on the most glorious of fruits. She laps a slow line along the length of her, gathering her on her tongue to determine her taste. Desire overwhelms her to find that the Doctor is addictive in the best way possible, the sweet, tangy taste of  _her_  clinging to her taste buds. She could do this for hours, although, in hindsight, that would take a hell of a lot of begging from the blonde currently quivering beneath her lips.  

The Doctor sinks into the sheets while she’s worshipped, a startled little gasp leaving her lips when Yaz hooks both thighs over her shoulders and really gets to work dissolving her into a trembling mess. The new sensations are still unfamiliar but so, so much more intense, hips shifting clumsily for more. There’s a thing Yaz does with her tongue which has her biting down on a closed fist to keep from crying out.  

Yaz obviously takes notice of her response, chocolate eyes darting up to capture the absolute bliss lacing the Doctor’s features. She repeats the motion, swiping her tongue in the shape of a letter ‘y’ over her clit, then an ‘a’, then a ‘z’, followed by a torturously slow ‘s’. She’s smirking while she does so, and the Doctor can feel the slow curve of her lips against her enough to acknowledge this. She huffs a short, stuttered laugh, earning her one in return - Yaz might be domineering, but she does have a soft spot for the Time Lord.    
   
“Hgnn - please, please, do that again.” The Time Lord pleads, unashamedly arching into her touch. She tangles her fingers in her locks and gives a little tug, gasping at the stuttered moan it produces from the other woman.  

“Let me hear that one more time, Doctor.” Yaz purrs, slowing her movements while her hands glide up her chest, cool thumbs brushing across over-sensitive nipples. They’re still reddened from the night before, due to over-eager teeth and lips on Yaz’s part. The temperature difference makes her shiver, goosebumps dotting her pale flesh. It’s overwhelming and she’s  _meant_ to want to squirm away, but the pleasure is too alluring, too consuming, too  _good._   

“Please, Yaz. Do - do it again.” The Doctor whimpers, lashes fluttering at her lover. Stars already begin to cloud her vision, and so when Yaz finally repeats the motions, she almost,  _almost_ falls apart right there and then.  

Yaz notices – because of  _course_  she notices. They may have only been intimate once, but the image of the Doctor’s features seconds before she orgasms  _certainly_ isn’t likely to leave her mind any time this century. It's forged into her vision like a canvas drawn behind her eyes, presented proudly in the depths of her pupils. She pulls back if only by an inch, tongue swiping along her bottom lip to pick up any residue of her lover. “You better remember to ask permission, love.”  

After a quick, desperate little nod of affirmation from the Doctor, she gets back to work, pinching her fingertips around a swollen bud at the same time as she dips her tongue just a touch into her core, testing the waters. It elicits a cry of encouragement and a series of long-winded murmurs of ‘please’ and ‘yes’, which simply encourage her further. Dropping a hand to let digits circle and press against her clit with growing pressure, Yaz begins gradually building up a rhythm of thrusts with her tongue, swirling and twisting to fuel more of those lyrical sounds. 

“Don’t stop, please don’t stop... don’t st—oh, _Gods.”_ One particular curl of her tongue and pinch of her fingers has the Doctor writhing against the sheets, curling her free hand into the material of her pillow so she can silence her groans into its contents. The flames in her core are ready to combust, to burn and ignite and set her insides on fire.  

“Heaven’s, Yaz,  _please_. Please let me come.  _Please,_ I can’t hold on m – much longer,  _please_. I need this. I need - I need you.  _Please.”_ Her pleads echo in the depths of the room, bouncing off of cluttered floors and walls and each cloud floating overhead. 

“One more.” Yaz murmurs against her, the vibrations sending her into overdrive. The Doctor’s movements become frenzied, hips bucking and twitching while her thighs quiver over her lover’s shoulders. Her toes are curled and tensed while she holds herself back from the very edge of unimaginable release.  

“ _Please!”_  

 _“Good girl. You can let go, baby. Let it all go for me.”_ Yaz purrs, working ten times as hard on her lover as she crests, then begins her blissful, mind-numbing descent. There are a few long, silent moments of trembling hips and hair gripping before the blonde’s body suddenly stretches taut, chest and hips jolting when she reaches her crescendo. The only word on her tongue is her lover’s name when she cries out, countless times over and over in the usually quiet room.  

“Y-Yaz... Yaz, Yaz...  _Yaz.”_ She chants under her breath as she slowly, bit by bit, comes down from her high, her slight frame sinking back into dishevelled sheets, sweat clinging to the space between her brows and the dip below her nose. She's blinking lazily and more than a little dizzy with pleasure.  

Yaz slows her attentions to her clit, pulling back entirely when a weak hand reaches down to gently nudge her away, complaining that her skin is too sensitive to stand anymore.  

“You’re so _good_ , Doctor.” Yaz croons, sliding back up to settle against her side. She offers an arm, letting the hazy Time Lord shuffle up and slip into her hold with the most sated of sighs. Sure, she’s more than turned on enough, but she has an armful of Time Lord to look after first. “How are you doing, honey?” 

“Good. Brilliant. Marvellous. Superb. Like I could take on a whole planet... perhaps after a quick nap. You’re insanely talented, Yasmin Khan. I had no idea that could feel so good. You make me feel so good.” The Doctor gushes, laying her head on Yaz’s chest to follow the gradual pace of her heart. It's disarming, somewhat, hearing one heartbeat rather than two – especially when it belongs to someone as fierce and powerful and courageous as Yazmin Khan. The more she thinks about it, though, the more frustrated with herself she gets, so she distracts herself.  

A lazy flurry of kisses melt against Yaz’s shoulder and chest while the Doctor settles at her side, sliding a hand down the slow path to her core. It stills there while the blonde meets her gaze, pupils warm and so, so full of affection for her lover.  

“You just gave me one of the best orgasms of my lives, Yaz. Mind if I return the favour somewhat? I can’t promise it’ll be the best, but that’s mostly because I can’t quite feel my limbs right now.”  

Yaz sighs at her touch, a few gentle rubs likely going to be enough to release her frustrations.  

“Only if you’re not too tired?” Her assertive side has departed, leaving behind a slightly coy, shy version who blushes when the Doctor continues to gaze at her like that – as though she’s the most beautiful artefact in a museum full of treasured possessions.  

“You underestimate me.” The Doctor teases, lips closing around a dark nipple to suck and worship while deft fingertips circle her clit firmly, coaxing hips to twist and jump until it’s the Doctor’s name spilling from her lips, eyes squeezed shut and thighs clenched tight around the three digits buried deep inside her.  

Ten minutes later, when sheets have been curled back around them and bodies have curled around each other, the Doctor trails her fingertips down the slope of Yaz’s arm, down to the palm of her hand. Her hands are youthful, untouched and unburdened. The Doctor takes note of this. 

Yaz glances down at her lover - though it’s unclear if that’s what the blonde would label herself - and tips up her chin, pressing a slow, lazy kiss to bee-stung lips.  

She tastes like wild cherries at the peak of their growth, mouthwatering and ripe. She's an addiction that Yaz never wants to sober up from. 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!!


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